Cinderella Dressed in Ashes tgd-2

by Cameron Jace

  Axel didn’t answer her. He pulled out a cell phone and started scrolling through it.

  “What are you doing Axel, isn’t that Loki’s phone?”

  “It is,” Axel nodded proudly. “I picked it up after he left Candy House. It has all the information Loki copied from his Dreamhunter’s Guide.”

  “Finally, you did something smart,” Fable said. “Found anything?”

  “Actually, yes,” Axel said, trying to avoid Fable’s stare.

  “What is it?”

  “I found a page where this purple gate is mentioned encircling the Dream Temple,” Axel said.

  “And?” Fable got impatient.

  “It only happens when the Dreamhunter’s Fleece is in someone else’s possession,” he said, reading from the phone.

  “We already know Carmilla has Loki’s Fleece,” Fable puffed. “Tell me something I don’t know, Axel. Is it safe to pass trough it?”

  “Not at all,” Axel said. “It says here that passing through it into the Dream Temple could lead to insanity.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because this purple light means this dream is Locked,” Axel read.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Loki didn’t write much about it, but wait,” Axel scrolled the pages. “It says here that a Locked Dream is a…” he raised his eyes to Fable, looking worried.

  “Axel?” Fable titled her head.

  “It means this is a never-ending dream,” Axel pronounced slowly.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means it’s not controlled by the timing of the Hourglass Waker, nor can the Dreamer shift between time and place like Shew used to do in her previous dreams,” Axel said.

  “That’s crazy,” Fable said. “And what is this purple thing?”

  “It’s the protector, or Locker, of this dream. That should be obvious, Fable.”

  “Yeah?” Fable had her hands on her waist again. “But there must be a way to wake up from any dream, even if it’s never ending. Magic always solves problems like these. Does it say anything about that?”

  Axel raised his head from the phone and shrugged, “It doesn’t,” he looked away from her, not wanting to tell her what he’d just read. The only way out of this dream was insane, and it was going to upset Fable so he decided not to tell her now.

  “Are you keeping something from me, Axel?” Fable demanded.

  Knowing that Fable’s next move was to snatch Loki’s phone from his hand, Axel deleted the part he didn’t want her to read.

  “What did you do, Axel,” she pouted, snatching the phone.

  “Nothing,” he shook his head and went on munching on a frog.

  “Are you sure, Axel?” she asked politely, staring at the purple light and wondering if she was insane enough to pass through it.

  Axel watched it closely. He knew his sister was crazy enough to walk through the light. And if she had read what he just read, she’d have had even more reasons to walk through. It was his job to protect her, and he wouldn’t let her know the only way this dream could possibly end. Even as much as he admired Loki and feared Shew, what mattered most was Fable.

  “Are you sure we should trust whoever wrote this Dreamhunter’s Guide?” Fable said, scrolling through the pages, ”I mean everything here seems incomplete. I’m sure every kind of magic has a solution, but I just couldn’t find any here.”

  “Why wouldn’t we trust the writer?” Axel said. “It’s the same guy who wrote every other article in it, signed as V.H.”

  9

  Of Tears and Sand

  Where do people go when they die in their dreams? Do their dreams die with them? Do they fall one dream lower in the levels of the Dreamworld?

  Shew remembered Loki talking about the Dreamworld being six levels deep, and that this level was just One Dream Under. She wondered what Six Dreams Under felt like, and if she had been transported Two Dreams Under when she died in the Wall of Thorns.

  Why is this level of the Dreamworld full of ashes, and why am I still conscious if I died in my own dream?

  Shew lay on her back, staring at the blue sky above. It was barely visible, blocked by a veil of endless ashes. They looked like a large black dress filled with tiny holes that occasionally let the thin light of the moon pass through.

  Ashes stuck to Shew’s hands as she tried to wave some of them away. She coughed. They were getting in her mouth, too.

  She propped herself up on her elbow, discovering she’d been transported to a cornfield glowing with a faint magnificent color—a bright shade of gold.

  Is this the afterlife? A cornfield?

  A breeze of wind passed through Shew like a ghost, rattling the plants and brushing her skin. She needed to stand up to get the whole picture.

  On her feet, she saw the cornfield was huge, encircled by the Wall of Thorns on all ends, all except a small gap in the distance that had burned to ashes. The wind puffed the ashes and sent them hanging in the air all over the corn.

  “This is the Field of Dreams,” Shew mumbled. “How did I get here? Who burned the Wall of Thorns?”

  Shew turned around in a full circle, looking for Cerené but couldn’t find her. Shew summoned her as loud as she could. Her voice didn’t even echo, blocked by the ashes saturating the air.

  “Oh, dear God,” Shew said. “Don’t let anything bad happen to Cerené.”

  Shew ran like a mad girl through the Field of Dreams. Had Cerené passed out and become buried in the corn? The cornstalks stood high enough that she had to crouch down to look for her.

  Shew ran in every direction. The cornfield was like a maze. Its yellow color was alarming to the eyes, misleading, insinuating a sense of being eternally lost, in contrast with the black ashes falling from above.

  Suddenly, Shew stopped in front of something amidst the cornstalks. She’d never seen anything like it. There was a girl lying on her back, floating upon a small puddle of water. The girl wore a red dress, hands folded upon her chest like a mummy.

  Shew knelt down and saw the girl was breathing and in a deep sleep. She had never seen someone sleeping so deeply, as if dead.

  You slept like this girl once before, Shew. Try to remember. The whole Snow White story is about a moment when you slept in a coffin and were kissed awake by a prince. This girl reminds you of yourself!

  Shew quieted the voice in her head. She couldn’t remember being kissed by a prince, nor sleeping in a coffin in the forest—the only coffin she’d known was the glass one in the Schloss.

  There were two glass urns on the sleeping girl’s sides, just like the one Cerené was holding. One urn held a small amount of water in it, the other was filled with grains of sand which were more greenish than yellow.

  Shew looked closer. The sand was rather sticky, and when she curiously tasted the water, it was salty—she spat it out.

  Looking back to the girl, she saw that some of the same greenish sand stuck to her sleepy eyes.

  “Hey!” Shew shook her. “Wake up. Did you see Cerené? Do you know if I am alive or dead?”

  The girl didn’t respond. She was a comatose sleeping beauty.

  Strides away, she came across another girl dressed in red, sleeping on a bed of water with urns on her sides.

  A few steps later, she found another girl, then another.

  The Field of Dreams was filled with girls.

  “Cerené!” Shew yelled, panicking now.

  Somewhere amidst the corn, Shew heard a voice chanting what seemed like nonsense. It was Cerené. The quality of her voice implied she was shivering.

  “London Bridge is falling down,” Cerené chanted as it to a baby in a cradle. “Falling down. Burning down.”

  “Where are you, Cerené?” Shew yelled, still running hysterically and avoiding the sleeping beauties she came across.

  “Ring-a-round the rosie. A pocket full of posies. Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down,” Cerené was hallucinating. She sounded like she had suffered a blow to her head or some
thing. “London Bridge is falling down.”

  “Keep singing,” Shew said. “It’s the only way I can find you.”

  “Burn. Burn. Burn,” Cerené chanted. “I’m a pleasure to burn.”

  Finally, Shew found her.

  Cerené sat in the middle of the cornfield, showered with ashes falling from the sky. She had her knees pulled to her chest, her hands around them, and her head rested awkwardly on her knees. She was naked, but covered with her own protective arms and the ashes stuck to her skin covering her bruises from the past. The fiery aura in her hair was stronger. Her hair itself looked strange, bigger and lush.

  Shew approached cautiously as Cerené hummed her eerie songs. She was shivering with teary eyes.

  Touching her would be foolish, Shew thought. The girl had a temper, and all Shew wanted to do was help her. The least she could do was cover her with some clothes.

  Shew ran back to one of the sleeping beauties and undressed her.

  One girl’s dignity is another one’s shame.

  Shew didn’t leave the sleeping beauty totally naked, she left her lying in her corset. She noticed the girl had her own bruises as well underneath, but there was no time to investigate that part.

  Shew ran toward Cerené with the dress.

  Her hair had changed into normal again, blonde, uncombed, and less fiery.

  She knelt in front of her and looked into her eyes so she would recognize her and allow her to put the dress on.

  If I could only understand why you’re crying now.

  Cerené’s watery eyes scanned Shew’s ashen face like an infant looking for its mother.

  “You’re alive?” Cerené squeaked then jumped to hug Shew. “You’re alive, Joy! I thought you were dead.”

  Shew fell on her back, tangled in Cerené’s arms.

  Cerené was sad because she thought I was dead?

  “When the Wall of Thorns caught on fire, I thought you died,” Cerené explained, holding Shew’s face with her hands. “I searched for you everywhere. Where have you been?”

  Shew remembered she woke up in the middle of the Field of Dreams, oblivious of how she got there. Who knew what really happened? Who burned the Wall of Thorns down and saved her? She doubted she’d get answers from Cerené. She had been saved as well, just like Shew, and neither had any recollection of what happened.

  Resisting the tears in her eyes and Cerené’s overwhelming emotions, Shew patted her back and sat straight.

  “You need to get dressed,” she showed Cerené the dress.

  “Oh,” Cerené blushed as if she just noticed she was naked. “My dress caught on fire so I took it off, I guess.”

  Shew didn’t question the authenticity of her story.

  Cerené put on the dress, which was too big for her and ran like a little child through the field, celebrating the new dress.

  “I love it,” she said. “It’s the color of fire!”

  “You have any idea what happened, Cerené?” Shew stood up and asked politely. She wondered why Cerené saw red as the color of fire and not blood.

  “What happened?” Cerené turned around, blinking as if trying to remember. “You mean the Wall of Thorns?”

  “Yes, Cerené. Who saved me? What set it on fire?”

  “I—” Cerené looked as if she was really trying to remember. “I don’t know. You started dancing and were about to be killed. I wanted to help you, but you said I should stay away. I didn’t know what to do. I kept screaming, calling your name. I even tried to find you but the thorns stopped me, and then suddenly…”

  “Suddenly what, Cerené?”

  “The Wall of Thorns caught on fire, and I … think I passed out.”

  “Listen, you’re alive,” Cerené said. “That’s what matters.”

  “You’re right about that,” Shew said, knowing she could have just died in her dream. “What really bothers me is that the Wall of Thorns considered me an intruder. I mean, I love Sorrow. I was born here. I’m the goddamn princess.”

  “Your father is Night Sorrow’s son, Joy,” Cerené said. “You and your father are still a threat to Sorrow unless you control yourself, and take sides. That’s what the mermaid told me about you.”

  “I’ve already chosen a side,” Shew said. “I will fight for the good of people, against all evil.”

  “I don’t think it’s that easy,” Cerené told Shew. “I mean you still feed on people’s blood. Don’t worry though, I’m sure the Wall of Thorns will accept you eventually. Besides, now that you crossed it, we can get the Heart’s third ingredient. Sand!” she waved her hands in the air.

  “How so?” Shew had no choice but to go with the flow.

  “Let me show you,” Cerené ran to a spot where she had hidden her glass urn and Shew followed her.

  They walked toward one of the sleeping beauties then knelt down and brushed her hair softly. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she said in awe.

  “All of them are beautiful,” Shew said. “Who are they?”

  “The Sleepers,” Cerené said matter-of-factly. “They keep the Field of Dreams alive.”

  “How is that possible? They’re sleeping and they look almost dead.”

  “That’s because each one of them is enchanted to sleep for a hundred years,” Cerené explained.

  “How so? And Why?”

  “They are girl that had been killed by Carmilla,” Cerené explained. “Someone, probably the Sandman himself, brought them here. That’s why you’d notice they have bruises and wounds underneath their dresses. Some of them have bite marks on their throats.”

  “Why did the Sandman bring them here?” Shew was curious.

  “To resurrect them,” Cerené said. “The Field of Dream is a magical place of Art. It can resurrect the unrightfully killed.”

  “But they are sleeping, Cerené,” Shew noted.

  “Remember when I told you magic has a price?” Cerené said. “In order for them to live again, they have to sleep in the cornfield for a hundred years. They pay their price by feeding the field, and they wake up a hundred years later and get a second life. Until then, they are safe here,” Cerené looked at the Field in Between which was encircled by the Wall of Thorns from all sides.

  She followed her gaze, spotting the part where the Wall of Thorns had been burned, “What will happen to the gab in the Wall of Thorns?” she said.

  “I think it will grow back on its own once we leave,” Cerené said. “Come, let me show you what these girls are doing here,” she pulled Shew down to kneel beside her.

  “You mean the price they pay for a hundred years until they wake up?” Shew wondered.

  “You see the urns on both sides, one filled with water, the other with sand?” Cerené pointed.

  “Yes.”

  “The Sleepers are all dreaming. Think of them as plants in the Field of Dreams. They feed the Field of Dreams with their dreams. When they dream, they have either good dreams or nightmares. Those who have nightmares cry and produce the Tears of Beauty. Those who dream happily produce grit in their eyes, the way we all do when we’re asleep. The sand is called the Sands of Beauty.”

  “What’s the use for the sand and the tears?”

  “When the urns are full of water, the water spills over, seeps into the earth and helps the corn grow,” Cerené said.

  “And the grit in their eyes—I mean the sand,” Shew inquired.

  Cerené grabbed a fistful of grit in the urn and showed it to Shew, “this no ordinary sand. It’s the third ingredient of the Heart element,” she poured a big amount of it in her glass urn. “The element of the Heart has been completed.”

  “This seems very strange, Cerené,” Shew said. “I mean the Field of Dreams, the girls, and the sand from their eyes.”

  “It’s not strange. It’s beautiful,” Cerené said. “This sand belongs to the Sandman himself. He owns this field.”

  “You told me about that.”

  “You know the Sandman who came into our rooms when we were just
kids and poured sand in our eyes while we slept so we could dream? Where do you think he gets his sand? Here, from the Field of Dreams.”

  “Is the Sandman around now?“ Shew whispered curiously. “I mean I’d like to see him.”

  “Grow up, Joy,” Cerené said. “He is the Sandman. We can’t see him. It would spoil the point of his existence.”

  Shew thought the story was promising considering she lived in a world where Snow White was a vampire and traveling between dreams was possible, however, she didn’t remember hearing anything like that when she was a child. The idea that the Sandman saved the girls her mother slaughtered seemed noble, but she thought feeding the field for a hundred years was a long price to pay.

  Think of it, Shew. The girls will be given a second life. They wouldn’t mind sleeping for a hundred years.

  She decided the Sleepers weren’t her priority. Cerené was. What worried her most was how Cerené knew about evil Rapunzel plants, the Fields of Dreams, and the Sandman.

  “Listen to me, Cerené,” Shew held her by the shoulders. “I have never met someone who knew about these things. I need to ask you how you know all this.”

  “I told you I read a lot of books in the school’s library,” Cerené answered casually. “Did you know its real name is Bedtime Stoories?” she snickered. “The two ‘o’ letters in the middle represent the secret pair of eyes that stare back at you from the bookshelves. They belong to a blind man called the Skeliman.”

  “I am sorry, Cerené, but I don’t believe you learned this from Bedtime Stoories,” Shew said, not paying attention to any of the fluffy details mentioned. She wanted to know how Cerené got her precious knowledge. “If the secrets you know were so easy to find, I am sure I’d have met someone in my family who knew about them. I’m the Princess of Sorrow, remember? My family created this kingdom. I am sorry but I dare call you a liar because I am sure you didn’t learn any of this from the books in the library.”

  Cerené rubbed the rim of her urn while avoiding Shew’s eyes. Shew lifted her chin gently to face her.

  “All right,” Cerené sighed. “I learned all this from Bianca,” she said with an undertone that implied shame, as if Bianca was bad.